


Arguing Over the Weather

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguing, Babysitter Sam, Bisexual Dean, Claire Ships It, Comforting Castiel, Crying Dean, Date Night, Dean In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gay Castiel, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parent Castiel, References to Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: The next thing Cas knows, Dean’s chest is slamming into his like a tidal wave. Cas stumbles, trying to find his sea legs, which feel more like seaweed; Dean has at least ten pounds on him. Then his hands find his smooth, carefully sharpened shoulder blades before one hand travels north, to the spikey aspen trees where he once and forever staked as his land the first time they kissed. “Babe, you’re scaring me, talk to me,” Cas whispers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lightly beta'd by yours truly. Any mistakes are mine.

 

"'If she's happy to go Dutch, she's lying', _you_ taught me that, Dean!" Cas screams, nearly watering the front lawn with his spit, he's so enraged.

"Johnny Christ—that was before I knew you were gay, man—"

"Don't you _dare_ call me man, Dean Winchester," Cas tests with a rigid finger. If fingers could kill, he thinks. He's certainly burning through enough ammunition with his mouth alone. "I didn't come out of the closet for the man I love—and I use that term _loosely_ right now _—_ to call me 'man'."

"—and neither of us are women!" Dean guffaws. "How does that even make sense?"

"I don't know why don’t you tell me how it makes sense for someone to pay for their own meal _and_ the dessert when the person who took you out was your own boyfriend!?"

"Hey, that apple pie was friggin' worth it and you know it!" Dean testifies, "You love apple pie!"

"And I would love it even more of my partner sliced a piece for me!"

Dean pauses for a laugh, bitter and condescending, braving a step closer: "Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about?"

Cas squints his eyes like an annoyed cat when Dean invades his personal space. Funny, he was the one who used to do that. "Your chivalry is clearly dead,” he mutters.

"Babe," Dean says, tone softer as he reaches out for Cas, "if you wanted chivalry, you could've just asked."

Cas jerks away with the tenacity of a lion coveting his kill. "That's just it, Dean, I shouldn't _have_ to ask!”

There’s a pause, and Cas can’t see with his head turned, but Dean’s probably giving him that Flynn Rider look he picked up from watching _Tangled_ one too many times.  "I'm sorry, Cas, I'll…"

Dean stops. Cas cranes his head. What he sees isn't Dean teeming with anger, but teter-totering between tears and something else Cas can't identify.

The color immediately drains from Cas's face and is replaced with concern. Dean _never_ cries. Not since his dad died, and even that he did in the privacy of his own apartment. By the time Cas showed up, the redness in his eyes had already started to fade. "Babe, I'm sorry about what I said, it was just the heat of the moment. You're more than chivalrous. You're—you're kind and sweet and... I mean, you're still a dick for making me pay for my own food, but—"

Cas is cut off by a sharp wheeze from Dean, which more or less vacuums the tears from the borders of his bright green eyes. Cas almost lurches forward until a staccato of laughs escape Dean.

Cas’s face twists. His arms shoot to his sides. “I fail to see how this is funny,” he spits.

“No, it’s not this…” Dean pauses, gesturing between them. He clears his throat. Though now, there’s more tears bubbling on the surface of his eyelids, and another wave of laughter crashes onto him. That’s enough to pull those tears down, washing them onto the freckled shore of his face. Cas can’t help simultaneously hating him and loving him at the same time for washing up onto his own shore and filling his lungs with fresh air.

“Dean?”

The next thing Cas knows, Dean’s chest is slamming into his like a tidal wave. Cas stumbles, trying to find his sea legs, which feel more like seaweed; Dean has at least ten pounds on him. Then his hands find his smooth, carefully sharpened shoulder blades before one hand travels north, to the spikey aspen trees where he once and forever staked as his land the first time they kissed. “Babe, you’re scaring me, talk to me,” Cas whispers.

Cas can feel wet spots forming in his tuxedo where the tears are seeping through. Dean sucks in a breath, and then burrows his face further in like a raccoon, “Sorry, it’s just… I’m just… happy. Real happy, babe.”

“Dean, I don’t—”

“I know we were at each other’s throats a second ago, I know,” Dean says, pulling back with a wide smile etched on his face. “It’s just... the butt of people’s arguments have been them trying to sell me a-a one-way ticket to sexuality—some of my closest buddies, guys I’ve known since high school, they—” Dean stops for a hitch in his throat. “This is… I don’t know, the first normal argument I’ve had since coming out.”

Cas can’t help the quiver of his lip, or his arms snaking around Dean again, this time tighter as he pulls him in. He’s been dating Dean for six months, and Dean’s only been out for eight. Cas knows what it’s like to feel the walls held up by family, friends, coworkers, anyone you remotely care about, collapse on him.

There’s no need for words. Not anymore. They say everything they need to say and more with their bodies.

“Daddy?”

They break their embrace for a girl in blonde pigtails and a black dress covered by the Grumpy Cat she’s smushing into her petite chest. Approaching behind her is a man fit for the NBA rather than the doorframe of a thousand square-foot home. He has brown hair that kisses his shoulders—nothing more than a peck, despite his outgrown sideburns—with eyes to match and a face that looks a lot like someone Cas loves.

“What’s up, darling?” Cas asks, laughing as he ascends the stairs to swoop up his daughter.

"I have a question,” she says. “Uncle Sam told me to ask you guys cos he doesn't wanna be held 'reliesable' for any future therapy it might cost me.”

Cas can see Dean giving his little brother the stink-eye, so he takes the initiative to attend to his— _their_ daughter, Cas corrects mentally. When it comes to Cas's relationship with his ex-husband, Dean's been her real father since the day Cas introduced them.

“I-I didn’t say—” Sam sighs, knowing he’s getting nowhere fast with Dean.

"Yes, sweet pea?" Cas replies, meeting Claire's stark blue eyes—a reflection of his own.

"When two people like each other, _like, like_ each other, do they go on dates?"

Dean looks to Cas. Dean blushes. "Well, yes, pumpkin. I suppose they have to," he laughs with the small squint of his eyes.

"Well," she says, looking between the two, "then you and Dean have been on a _really_ long date."

Like a piñata, Cas's heart swells with gratuitous goodness. He can't help glance to Dean again, who's glancing back, only this time, they don't look away. Not for anything as big as the apocalypse or as small as a restaurant tab. "Yeah," Cas muses, busting a grin so hard all his candy falls out, "I suppose we have been. And I guess we will be for a long time coming.”

 

 


End file.
